


Refuse To Believe

by MiaGhost



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angsty Richie Tozier, Best Friends, Birthday Party, Eddie Kaspbrak being a bossy little shit, Except Richie Tozier is a little shit and worked it out, Excited Eddie Kaspbrak, Family Feels, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, General huggy fluff, Getting Together, I Love the Losers Club (IT), Internalized Homophobia, Is this enough tags omg, Kid Fic, Lots of physical affection incoming, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentioned Sonia Kaspbrak, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Okay after I typed that I gave him a clipboard, Picture this kid with a clipboard, Public Display of Affection, Sassy Stanley Uris, Secret Crush, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Soft Losers Club, Someone stop me, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Surprise Party, Swearing, The Losers Club Are Good Friends (IT), The Losers Club Love Each Other (IT), The Losers Club are Family and we all know it okay, The Losers are 16, The Losers are just the freaking best group of people, They grew up in Derry guys, cute soulmate fic, minor mentions of her A+ parenting but the Losers always make everything better bc fuck that bitch, only a touch, reddie feels, soulmate words
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-02-24 02:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23335333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaGhost/pseuds/MiaGhost
Summary: Eddie didn't know what the feeling in his gut was as he stared. On his wrist, in a slanted scribble, were two words. He blinked, caught entirely off-guard, a brief flash of nausea rising in his gut. He'd finally gotten it. He'd started thinking it'd be his birthday before he got it, but that's absolutely what it was, right? That's what he was looking at?-Richie stared at his no-longer unblemished wrist, the dark lines that formed the letters neat and stark against his skin, blurred by his sleepiness and the tears gathered in his eyes. His chest felt heavy and cold and as he drew in a shuddering, hitching breath, he lost the battle with it all. He couldn't stop himself from dissolving into tears fast.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, minor/if you squint
Comments: 38
Kudos: 209





	1. Chapter 1

At first, he wasn't sure what woke him. It was still pitch black, the red glow of his alarm clock signalling it wasn't long after midnight. He lay quietly, wondering if maybe he'd heard someone - Richie, who else? - tossing pebbles at his bedroom window, but the night remained silent around him. He frowned, yawning, having gotten to bed not long before eleven despite Bill reminding him they had an early start.

Eddie smiled softly to himself. It was officially Richie's birthday. His sweet sixteenth. A pretty fucking big deal, and Eddie had plotted with the other Losers for _weeks_ , months even, to make sure everything was as right as they could make it. It was true that they'd teased him for being so organised, even more so than usual, but he knew their taunts and comments about it being _Richie_ weren't malicious. He was Eddie's best friend, besides Bill. And in recent years, maybe even more than Bill. Even if that made Eddie feel a tiny bit guilty.

He turned over, and the flash of heat in his wrist sent him upright with a choked hiss.

Eddie didn't know what the feeling in his gut was as he stared. On his wrist, in a slanted scribble, were two words. He blinked, caught entirely off-guard, a brief flash of nausea rising in his gut. He'd finally gotten it. He'd started thinking it'd be his birthday before he got it, but that's absolutely what it was, right? That's what he was looking at?

His soulmate mark, growing darker on his skin as he stared, like ink seeping out from his veins instead of seeping _in_ from a pen. His heart leapt and spluttered. A million voices started suddenly yelling incoherently in his head. But most of all, one hollered louder than the others, familiar as his own as it whooped and brayed.

_Hey, Eds._

Eddie felt like he might actually hurl. Surely… Surely it was a _huge, huge,_ coincidence? A fucking _massive_ coincidence? He couldn't dare, to hope that- It couldn't be. It _couldn't_ be that…

Eddie groaned and flopped back against his pillow, but his wrist stayed clutched in his other hand and he stared at the new words as though they might re-arrange themselves if he looked away. A secret, fierce hope blistered in his chest, but he tried his best to kick it away. His soulmate didn't _have_ to be a guy. Just because he'd- just because he'd only liked _one_ person like that so far didn't mean he had to be…

If his soulmate was a guy, Bowers would have even more reason to hound him. He'd never escape it at school, it'd be realer than now, if it was confirmed. There would be no hiding from it if it _was_ a guy. Oh shit. His mom would kill him. What if it _was_ Richie? She'd kill them both. She hated Richie more than any of the other Losers, oh god. A sharp pain sprang in his chest and his breath became a wheeze, but Eddie fought not to scramble for the inhaler he knew didn't even work.

What, realistically, were the chances that his soulmate happened to share a birthday with his best friend?

Okay, pretty good, millions of people shared birthdays, no big deal. Eddie tried not to get ahead of himself.

But someone else who'd call him Eds? As the _first_ thing they said to him when he saw them next?

It wasn't that original a nickname, true, but there was only one person that Eddie knew who called him by it. His heart kicked and yelped in his chest as he tried to ignore it.

What were the chances that the first thing a stranger would say to him was "Hey, Eds."?

His stomach sloshed with too many clashing emotions and Eddie felt his eyes prick with tears as it overwhelmed him just a little.

~.~

Richie stared at his no-longer unblemished wrist, the dark lines that formed the letters neat and stark against his skin, blurred by his sleepiness and the tears gathered in his eyes. His chest felt heavy and cold and as he drew in a shuddering, hitching breath, he lost the battle with it all. He couldn't stop himself from dissolving into tears fast. He hadn't always been the best person he could be. He knew he was brash and insensitive with his friends, he made everything a joke because it was _easier_ than- than admitting he was weak, or scared. He knew he wasn't… _normal_ , in the ways that maybe he should be.

But he'd always believed, always _hoped_ that maybe he'd still deserve someone good. Someone who would want him, someone who wouldn't take one look at him and sneer, and call him an asshole.

Richie curled up on his side and tried to stifle his sobs so that his parents wouldn't hear, wishing desperately for a second that he'd asked Eddie to stay over, or Stan, or any of the others, just so he had someone to tell him they thought his soulmate couldn't possibly hate him at first sight.

Maybe he should be glad he hadn't, though. The tears continued to soak into his pillow as he stared at the horrible, horrible words on his wrist and worried about this stranger he was promised to, this stranger he'd meet one day who wouldn't want him.

More than that, though he was trying hard not to acknowledge it, he felt utterly disappointed. He'd done his best, over the years, not to hope. Not to wish, knowing it was probably just a dumb crush he'd get over eventually. The kid wasn't even _gay_. But it lay there, in Richie's heart, anyway. He wondered how long it would take for him to stop feeling it, stop wishing it was Eddie instead.

He hoped he wasn't going to feel like this forever. Especially when Eddie eventually got his soulmark and found his soulmate. He still wanted to be Eddie's best friend in the future, when they were old and married and hopefully far away from Derry.

~.~

"Are you listening, sweetheart?"

Richie blinked as he jumped, knee hitting the table, automatically covering his wrist with the fingers of his other hand without thought. His mother raised an amused eyebrow, but he could only swallow and look away.

"Yeah, I heard. I'll… go for a ride, or something."

Maggie smiled gently at him, leaning over his shoulder to kiss the mess of dark hair on his head.

"Cheer up, bub. You'll feel better once everybody gets here. From what I hear they've been planning it for a while."

Richie gave a half-hearted snort at her cryptic tone, but when his mom looked at him again he felt his mouth smile a little. The thought of the Losers Club _did_ brighten his mood, especially that they'd been thinking about him. It made his insides warm pleasantly to think they cared enough to try and make his birthday special.

Excitement leaked into his chest for the first time since the horrible soulmark had showed up and ruined his day.

"I wonder if it'll be another spectacular Loser disaster." he joked, grinning properly, laughing when she pretended to look scolding.

"I don't know about disaster, but spectacular seems possible." she chuckled to herself as she handed him a spoon to encourage him to _finally_ start eating his cereal, "The way Eddie talks about it makes me think it'll be executed with military precision."

She snapped her arms to her sides as though marching, and offered Richie a salute. He sniggered around a mouthful of soggy cheerios. It was kinda weird to think of his friends talking to his parents behind his back all this time, almost as weird as it was to know he'd taken so long to find out. Sneaky fuckers.

"Eddie's in charge of it?"

He didn't know why the thought surprised him, Eddie was the natural choice for micro-managing _any_ kind of plan. But it made his heart flutter a little bit to think that his crush was the one making all the decisions about the secret party he wasn't meant to know about. His mother gave him a wry, knowing smile, and he swallowed theatrically to hide the way he could feel his neck heating up. Was she the one teaching Stan that annoying, embarrassing expression, or had Stan somehow taught her it? It was uncanny.

"Obviously." she answered, as though it were a stupid question.

Which, he supposed, it was. His heart still tripped up on the next beat, and he nearly choked on his next spoonful of cereal.

"Cool."

His mom's laugh was embarrassing, and he raced to finish his breakfast and escape before she could say anything about the red in his face. He was avoiding that conversation, thank you very much. While he'd always been teased by them about his friendship with Eddie, the fondness he had for him, the extremes they said he went to to get his attention, he was very much _not_ ready to really test their love for him by admitting he was. Well. That he was gay. He forced himself to think the word, cringing without thinking.

"I'm sure it'll be fine." she said, softly, mistaking his reasons for the expression, "You know Eddie. He'll have it all worked out."

Richie rolled his eyes and smiled, feeling how sappy it was on his face but not able to change it as he pushed the empty bowl away.

"The Spaghetti Man strikes again." he laughed, "I can already hear the screaming."

Maggie laughed and collected the bowl, ruffling his hair as he stood up.

"You wait. I bet he makes sure everything is great."

Richie made sure she saw his exaggerated eye-roll before he made his way out to the yard for his bike, but inside he was kind of gooey. Eddie _would_ do everything in his power to make sure everything was great. They never talked about like, feelings and shit, but he knew Eddie would. He drove Eddie crazy, that was his _job_ , but he'd never been left to question whether Eddie considered him his best friend as much as Richie did him. They just had their own ways of showing it, he supposed.

He thought about Eddie as he rode away from the house, knowing he probably shouldn't, because now he had an actual indication of his future soulmate, but the image of his best friend cheered him considerably. He grinned to himself, flying down the road towards the Clubhouse like the devil was after him, Eddie all cute and yelling at him in his head about whatever his imagined self had teased him with.

~.~


	2. Chapter 2

Eddie was out of bed the second his alarm went off, despite both struggling to fall back asleep _and_ it being a Saturday - Richie was a lucky fucker, getting a weekend birthday - and could barely contain his grin as he threw on his joggers and polo-shirt, slipping across the carpeted hallway to brush his teeth and comb his hair in the bathroom before creeping downstairs.

He couldn't hear the TV, and he let out the breath he was holding when he peered into the kitchen to find that his mother wasn't in there, either. Sometimes she did wake early on weekends, but today she'd slept in. Eddie eyed the bowls in the cabinet, thinking about breakfast, and how hungry he was gonna be by lunch if he didn't have any, but the lingering fear of his mother putting a stop to his plans decided him.

The last thing he needed was for her to come downstairs before he had the chance to leave, and somehow wheedle him into staying. He had to pace himself as he got his shit together to leave, returning to his room to grab the backpack of stuff he'd been gathering, piece by piece, since Christmas. Excitement lit him up inside. This was gonna be sweet. Richie was gonna love it, he just knew it.

He slipped back downstairs, in such a good mood that he ignored his fanny pack, settling for shoving an inhaler in one pocket. Some day, hopefully soon, he was gonna get out of this stupid mental trap. But for the time being, the inhaler helped with what he could now recognise as anxiety, and that was good enough.

The sun was already filling the street with the promise of a good day as he wheeled his bike to the road, and Eddie's mood just kept climbing. He knew that most of his excitement was anticipation for the final product of a plan that had taken so long to come together, but there also the fact that he'd be celebrating a birthday with all his favourite people, eating junk food and playing dumb games. And of course, he admitted to himself as he started peddling in the direction of Bill's house, there was part of him that was giddy to see Richie's face when he was met with all their hard work.

The idea made his stomach flutter, and his gaze slid to the band of his watch, under which he could almost _feel_ those two inked words.

_Hey, Eds._

Hope would simply not be denied, and Eddie bit his lip hard as it threatened to overtake him. Hope was dangerous, because it brought fear with it, fear of rejection, fear of disappointment. And then, on the other side of that coin, fear that he was secretly right, and Richie really did belong to him. Fear that he might have to bare his soul and all his insecurities to the one person he was most afraid to seem weak in front of.

Sure, Richie almost certainly knew most of them. But that didn't mean that saying them out loud would be any easier.

Still, as Eddie turned into Bill's street he decided to push it aside, a puzzle for a later moment. For now, he had a party to put together, the contents of the heavy rucksack on his back to unpack. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to bossing the others around a little, too. Seeing all the pieces fit into place.

God, he was a dork.

Bill was the one to answer the door, his grin wide in greeting. Eddie felt less silly about the extent of his excitement, because Bill looked almost as excited.

"M-mornin', Eddie!"

Eddie grinned as he followed him inside.

"Heya, Bill. Stan awake?"

Bill nodded, leading him through to the kitchen where a sleep-rumpled Stan was sitting at the table, pouring milk into a steaming mug. He gave Eddie a tired, accusatory smile, and Eddie snickered.

"You look refreshed." he teased.

Stan rolled his eyes, lifting his coffee to his lips.

"This is your doing, you know." he hummed in return, seeming unamused when Bill and Eddie only laughed.

Bill was sitting bowls down, and he raised an eyebrow when he caught Eddie's eye. The shorter boy could feel his face flush a little as he shifted awkwardly. Bill smiled and turned back for another bowl.

"Glad you escaped." was all he said, and Eddie appreciated it.

They all knew what Sonia Kaspbrak was like, by now. Eddie had come clean about a lot of it in the aftermath of their near-death experiences with the hellish evil that lived in the Derry sewer system, and even though they were nearly sixteen, had killed a monster clown from space and faced all their worst fears, they understood that untangling himself from her clutches was still a work in progress.

It was much easier with their help and support, of course. He'd been rescued more times than he'd like, when he failed to show for plans over the last three years. They'd badgered his mother, talked her into letting him go through sheer determination, had scaled the tree outside his bedroom window to help him sneak out, had roped parents into calling to reassure her that they'd be safely supervised inside one home or another when in fact they were running the streets as they always did.

Bill and Richie's parents especially had been very adept at that particular ruse, and Eddie would always be grateful that not every parent in Derry was an asshole. Even though Sonia despised Richie with an anger Eddie couldn't fathom, Wentworth and Maggie were very persuasive talkers.

Stan yawned widely when thanking Bill for his bowl, and Eddie slid into a chair at the other side of the table, smiling gratefully when he was given his own. They sat quietly for a while, crunching softly on cornflakes and waking up properly, the smell of Stan's coffee warm and reviving. Eddie himself was wide awake, filled to the brim with anticipation, and the longer they sat at the Denbrough kitchen table, the more it seemed that his good mood was contagious.

Eventually, Stan drained his mug and stretched, his face overtaken by a yawn that made the other boys chuckle. He smiled faintly, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as he got up.

"I guess I should get dressed."

Bill watched him walk across the room with a chuckle.

"No r-r-rush. I b-bet Richie isn't even awake yet."

Stan's laugh of agreement floated gently down the hall as he headed for the stairs.

"What d'you think?" Bill turned to Eddie, eyebrow raised in amusement, "Think he's up y-y-yet?"

Eddie smirked, shaking his head as he swallowed the last of the milk from his cereal bowl. Bill laughed.

"Yeah, me n-neither."

Eddie grinned, gaze falling to his watch at the thought of Richie. He knew it was psychosomatic, but whenever he thought about Richie, he thought about the new marks on his skin, and whenever he thought about them, they seemed to tingle.

"He b-b-better appreciate all the work, Eddie."

Bill was smirking when Eddie looked back up, fiddling with the new wristband his parents had given him on his sixteenth, back in January. It covered the marks Eddie knew would be there now, as was its purpose, but it was also made of a soft leather and looked really good on him. Bill caught him looking, and his smile went that same kind of tight way it always did when anybody asked about it.

The Losers, in their mutually understanding way, never brought it up. Not after the first time, when Richie had opened his mouth in the Clubhouse the day after Bill's birthday and asked if he was gonna show them. Bill got uncomfortable and defensive and Richie, being Richie, didn't recognise it until Bill had nearly punched him in the face and Stan had had to step between them.

Eddie smiled apologetically, and the look in Bill's eyes vanished. He almost blurted out that he had one now, too. Like maybe it would help Bill feel less self-conscious about being the only one to have one yet. But Eddie was worried that maybe he'd notice the timing, and put the pieces together, somehow knowing that Eddie hoped it was Richie. Well, maybe that was kind of paranoid, but if he told him he had one, then he'd end up probably having to show it, and _then_ Bill would guess for sure.

Who else called him Eds? Who else was likely to? Best he kept it to himself, for now. Especially if it turned out _not_ to be Richie. Handling that disappointment would be crushing enough without having to deal with Bill feeling bad for him too.

"Do you think Richie will show us his?" Bill suddenly asked, real quiet and slowly.

He wasn't looking at Eddie anymore, instead chewing his lip and staring at the covered skin of his wrist. Eddie's stomach lurched and he felt a cold chill all over.

"I- uh, I dunno." he stammered, shrugging when Bill did look up, "I mean, he might. I mean, it's _Richie_. He tells us how big his dick is every fucking day."

Bill spluttered a laugh, surprised by the sudden confidence and change in Eddie's tone, his eyes glinting.

"T-t-true. It'll b-b-b-be funny if he has s-somethin' embarrassing."

Eddie sniggered with him. He hadn't actually thought about what Richie might have woken up to see written on his wrist. Suddenly, he was hit by the thought of Richie being woken at midnight, like Eddie had been. Had Richie woken, with a burning heat in his wrist? Had he lain as long as Eddie had, staring at the words and wondering who would say them to him?

Eddie's heart twinged strangely in his chest. Jealous of the unknown person who would say the words forever tattooed into the pale skin of his best friend's wrist. Somehow, the thought managed to chip a piece of his excitement away.

"I hope he doesn't," he said before he could stop himself, "I mean we'd… never hear the end of it, you know?"

Bill hummed, his eyes clouding with thought.

"Y-yeah, I guess."

Eddie's wandering gaze found his empty bowl, and so for something to do he took the three of them and washed them against Bill's protests, rinsing Stan's mug too and setting everything neatly on the draining board just as Stan reappeared.

"Ready?" Bill asked, grinning again.

Stan gave a deep sigh, but a smile toyed at the corner of his mouth.

"I suppose. Eddie?"

Eddie grinned.

"Where first?"

"Ben's. Bev and Mike are j-just gonna m-meet us there."

That made sense. The Hanlon farm was too far out for it to make sense for them to make the ride, and Bev's dad would kill her if she was picked up by the gang of boys he so hated her being seen with. It definitely seemed like he'd been better since It had been defeated, but bad people were still bad people, and none of them dared risk it.

"Then let's get this over with." Stan hummed, finally breaking into a grin when Bill elbowed him with a chuckle.

"Lighten up, Uris."

Eddie collected his rucksack and followed the two into the yard. Stan was in a good mood, despite what he might say, and Bill's eyes danced with the same excitement that fluttered around in Eddie's belly. They'd collect Ben, and then they'd only have the Tozier house to go, where hopefully they'd find Wentworth and Maggie and no Richie. Maggie had promised she'd get him out of the house, and Eddie knew how persuasive she could be, so they'd be fine.

The sun sunk into his skin as they rode, and made him feel like nothing could go wrong, not on a day like this. When they crested the hill into downtown Derry, the three boys whooped loudly into the sky, and it was hard to believe they wouldn't be kids much longer, with the childish glee that bloomed in their chests.

~.~


	3. Chapter 3

The forest was quiet as Richie walked his bike over tree roots as familiar as his own backyard. There were birds, of course, singing high in the trees and flitting across the sunshine streaming through the branches, but it was still quiet. He didn't often visit the Clubhouse without the others. He used to, sometimes. To get away, to wrestle with his racing brain and his emotional turmoil. In their days of facing It, he'd felt smothered sometimes and had to escape. But the older the Losers got, the closer they seemed to grow, and it was rare now for any of them to be found alone.

Though he himself had easily become the most fond of having them, his pack, his family around him, he could most often be found with Eddie, torturing the shorter brunette till he was red in the face and yelling his head off. He'd been closest to Stan for years, but recently Stan and Bill had gravitated closer together. Mostly, Richie thought they were so similar it made sense. Not that it mattered, really. The Losers were tight, all seven together, and they always would be.

He leaned his bike against a tree trunk and walked the paces, deliberately, towards where the hatch was hidden. With a brief, cursory glance around, he lifted it and slid inside, ignoring the ladder to jump right down to the ground in the way that used to make Eddie holler at him when they were all so much shorter. Nowadays, it'd earn him an eye-roll, a grimace, a growled huff. Out of habit, more than anything else.

They had their roles, the Losers. Their niches, Stan had once called them, on a rare occasion when they'd actually spoken about the strange bond they shared. Niches, like his birds filled. Little spaces in the eco-system that suited them best. He hadn't needed to go any further, for they all knew without it being spoken, what their niches were.

Bill, their leader, their core. The best talker of them all, even with his stutter. Beverly, the Wendy to their Lost Boys, their mother. The one who showed them easy love, despite only being taught it by them. Stan, their voice of reason. Their caution to the amount of reckless they had. Encouraging them to think before acting. Ben; all heart. The one to soothe hurt feelings, never afraid to say the things the others were too embarrassed to. Richie himself, their comedian. He was there to bug them all, to shake things up and make them laugh, even when laughing was the very last thing they wanted to do. Eddie, their doctor. He looked out for them all, always, caring in his loud, pessimistic, enthusiastic way. Always showing them which way to go, always keeping them safe. The bravest of them all, Richie sometimes thought. And Mike, their balance. Relaxed, calm, almost impossible to rile up. He broke their impasses, their ties. Their lucky seventh.

In his chest, Richie's heart gave a gentle pulse. He loved them all, as he sank into the hammock by himself, listening to the dirt around him settling, loved them fiercely, even if he could never say so out loud. Because that was embarrassing. He fingered the scribbled words on his wrist with care, wary that if he pressed too hard they might still hurt.

Stupid fucking soul mark. The good mood he'd managed to rescue threatened to fade as he stared at the words.

He knew he wasn't a whole lot to look at. His mom was always telling him he'd grow into himself, and Bev _had_ said that she'd seen them as adults, and promised him he did indeed grow into his looks. But for now, even at sixteen, he knew he still looked weird and gangly. He was scrawny still, even though he'd grown easily another four inches this year. His hair was still the same dark tangle it had always been. He couldn't bear to sit still for his mom to cut it, and she'd laughed one day and told him he'd won, that she thought it suited him, anyway.

He still had the same coke-bottle glasses that he'd always been so secretly self-conscious about, the same stupid overbite his dad wanted to fix but hadn't yet convinced Richie that braces wouldn't get him picked on. Because they all knew they would. People would spy them from miles away, and life was hard enough for a Loser.

The others teased him for his wardrobe, but he still wore what he liked. If anything, he'd turned harder into all the gaudiest, brightest colours he could, because they made the others groan, and Stan would berate him and Eddie would give him a lecture on how stupid he looked, and it was always a win to be the centre of Eddie's attention. Even if it was yelling.

Richie stretched his legs out, the most comfortable he'd been in the hammock in probably years, but it didn't feel quite the same without Eddie crushed in beside him, yelling about something and kicking him and kicking his glasses off, and generally touching him. He knew it was different, with Eddie. The pawing, the shoving.

Richie and Beverly were the most physically affectionate of the Losers, happiest to be dog-piled, man-handled, always first to reach out and touch the others. As they'd grown up, Richie had put thought to it, and concluded that for Beverly, it was positive physical affection that she'd never really had as a kid. For him, it was just how he said 'I love you'. He didn't talk feelings, not like Bev and the boys could, not like Ben could. Nobody could, like Ben.

With Eddie, it was much more. It always had been more, touching the shorter boy, shoving him, teasing him with sugar-slicked fingers and dirt and grime, winding him up to watch him explode. He'd probably been in love with Eddie since he was real young, and just didn't know what it was until the summer that It had come along and thrown a mirror up in front of him, to show him what darkness really lay in his heart.

Now, with the hateful scribble on his wrist, he'd have to start… holding some of that back. He'd have to work better at getting over this crush that had taken him over so, and he'd have to undo some of it, if he could. His stomach twisted painfully as he stared at the words.

How was he supposed to act, around Eddie now? Now that he knew so much of the push-and-pull of their friendship was his flirting, how was he going to be able to act like a normal human being? He'd never had much practice at _normal_.

Richie swung the hammock lazily as he traced the letters, so neat and small, nine words crammed into his skin to dictate his future. Nine words was a lot. His mom and dad only had seven words between them, and he had a whole nine all to himself. He couldn't help but wonder how many Eddie would have, when he got his. It hurt to think about, it hurt _a lot_. But he had nothing else to do, lying in the Clubhouse on his own because he knew they were all at his house, preparing a party for him that he wasn't supposed to know about.

How many did Bill have? Under that strap he wore all the time now. He wouldn't even take it off when they were at the Quarry. He wondered if maybe he just loved it so much, or if he was copying Stan, who always wore that dorky waterproof watch everywhere. Maybe he was still being funny about it.

Richie practically burned with curiosity as to what was under the leather band. At first, it was just mild curiosity, because the Losers shared practically everything, and he'd never given any thought to whether they would hide their soulmarks. Some people did, especially when they were younger, but lots of people didn't bother, because your soulmate was supposed to say it without knowing, anyway.

But as soon as Bill had gotten secretive about his, Richie had been struck with an overwhelming need to know, and he'd let it run his mouth without thinking. Was it embarrassing? Was it full of lewd words? Was it a bad pick-up line? Or was it horrible and cutting, like Richie's was? Was that why Bill had gotten so angry so fast?

Richie still felt a little guilty about that. It had been over in minutes, and Stan had dragged Bill away, out of the Clubhouse to calm him down, and Eddie had shoved Richie into the hammock and stolen his glasses and spent twenty minutes mimicking him poorly until Richie had had enough of not being able to see Eddie's face properly while he was laughing, and wrestled them back.

Maybe Bill hated his mark as much as Richie hated his. Maybe he should show Bill, catch him alone and show him how awful his mark was, and say sorry for what had happened in January, even though everybody had forgotten about it like they forgot about all their fights, forgiveness so easy amongst them.

And that brought up the thought of the others, making Richie's gut squirm hot and full of acid.

Should he hide his mark? Should he show them? It was so hateful, such a clear rejection. Maybe it'd just make them sad. Maybe, selfishly, it'd make them want to reassure him. He tugged the sleeve of his shirt down over it again and held the material over it, tight.

He looked around their hideout, looking for something to do. He couldn't settle to read a comic, he'd read them all a hundred times. That left Stanley's bird books, Ben's books on nerdy buildings, the awful romance Bev was reading that they'd all teased her about for hours. Bill had a book on boats somewhere, and there was a collection of old paperbacks by the desk that had been left or rescued by various members. He knew Eddie had an old medical textbook somewhere, from that one time the library threw out a bunch of non-fiction.

Richie could have sworn Eddie nearly _died_ from excitement that day, when Richie opened his backpack and dragged out the ridiculously heavy, unwieldy book. Okay, so he'd seen it being tossed on his way from the Barrens to pick the little hypochondriac up, and he'd instantly thought of Eddie, but any of the others would have too.

It just so happened that Richie was the one who ended up having to put the stupid thing in his backpack and trail it all the way across town. But that had meant _he_ was the one to see Eddie's initial reaction, the only one there to savour his best friend's embarrassing shriek of pleasure, the only one who got to laugh at how absolutely _gorgeous_ Eddie had looked in that moment, holding the giant ass book and looking up at Richie like he'd handed him the moon.

"Richie you _genius_!" he'd said, and he'd been so excited that he didn't even seem to care it had been rescued from a dumpster probably swimming in some kind of bacteria or other.

Richie couldn't picture Eddie as anything other than a medical professional when they grew up, not with the experience he'd had herding all the Losers through their years together, cleaning wounds and patching them up. The book was probably a bad idea, he decided, even as he located it at the bottom of one stack of books. He was supposed to _not_ be thinking about Eddie so much. Richie let out a giant, boneless sigh, and stared up at the beams above the hammock.

He was getting dizzy from the ups and downs of his mood, and it was still so early. He loved Eddie, with everything he had, he knew. He'd die for him, like he'd die for any of the others. But now he knew for sure there was a soulmate out there, waiting to meet him, to sneer at him and reject him and call him an asshole, and he should probably stop letting his heart feel like that for his best friend.

He bit his lip as his eyes watered, curling up in the worn fabric of the hammock. He still wished it could be Eddie. That maybe, maybe Eddie would be in a shit mood after putting his party together and maybe he'd-

Richie groaned and threw an arm over his eyes, halting the train of thought hard. Disappointment lay heavy and cold in his abdomen and he felt his throat catching.

What could he possibly say to Eddie that would result in this being the first thing he said in return?

~.~


	4. Chapter 4

"Morning, boys!"

Wentworth opened the door with a grin.

"Hi, Mr Tozier."

"H-hey, Mr Tozier."

"Morning!"

As he stepped aside to let them in, Richie's dad spied Eddie peering around the others, and chuckled.

"He's gone, don't worry. Maggie got him out not too long ago."

Eddie relaxed a good deal. Sure, if Richie came back early and caught them, the surprise wouldn't be _totally_ ruined, but it'd still be pretty neat to have him only see the finished result, all at once. Eddie was hoping he'd stay out long enough for them to get it all done. It may have been daunting, to anyone else. But Eddie relished the task and challenge ahead.

"Beverly's in the kitchen with her, now." his amused, welcoming voice continued, "Cake preparation has officially started."

As he closed the door and sat down to untie his trainers like he always did, Eddie looked up to find Wentworth watching him, his smile soft and familiar. At the edges, Eddie could almost see that same curl that Richie's smile would take when it turned sly. Wentworth waited till the others had gone through into the living room before he handed Eddie the stiff, leather-covered board he'd had tucked under his arm.

"Can't have the man in charge without a clipboard, now can we?"

Eddie flushed as he hopped to his feet and accepted it, a heated giddiness rising in his gut and making him want to bounce on his toes. It was one of Dr . Tozier's personal clipboards. Eddie was holding in his hands a real, professional clipboard. He grinned sheepishly up at the tall man.

"Thanks, Mr. Tozier. This is _so_ cool."

Wentworth chuckled and placed a firm hand on Eddie's shoulder to guide him through to the others.

"Let's get this master plan started, shall we?"

~.~

Eddie rushed across the room, shaking his head at the boy stepping from the ladder with yet another streamer in hand.

"No, I meant it, Ben! That one too!"

Ben looked at him sort of helplessly, gesturing to the busy ceiling as he did.

"But there's so many colours here alr-"

"I know," Eddie interrupted, waving a hand, "but if it doesn't look like a rainbow threw up, it's not _enough_!"

Ben blinked after Eddie as the shorter boy darted suddenly over to where Bill was adjusting the new tablecloth and arranging paper plates, and caught Beverly's eye through the open kitchen doorway. The girl grinned at him across the space, her hands covered in the flour Mrs Tozier was showing her how to turn into cookies, and just shook her head. Ben rolled his eyes and dutifully climbed the ladder again, pinning the vivid purple streamer up with the five other colours already in that corner, watching them all cascade down the wall and tangle in a loud, obnoxious waterfall of colour.

Maybe Eddie had a point. Richie would probably have arranged them _exactly like that_. Which was, in Ben's opinion, horribly. He clambered back down with an amused laugh, before walking the ladder carefully to the next corner of the room and retrieving the next six paper tubes of streamers that Eddie had assigned to him.

In the opposite corner, Mike was helping Richie's dad keep his own ladder steady, dutifully feeding him the strings of little bulbs that had been brought down from the attic again so soon. He stifled a laugh when he caught Ben's eye, and Ben grinned as he pushed the next pin into the top of the coiled, coloured paper and stretched up to push it into the ceiling.

Stan had already finished taping what he'd been assigned to the walls, and had moved on to the small pile of computer cables that had been left by the TV, sitting cross-legged as he untangled them and lay them out precisely. Against the wall behind him, waiting for its own turn, sat the TV from the den-room.

As Ben was pinning the last of that group of streamers into place, the trill of a timer chimed in the kitchen and Eddie darted past again, clipboard under his arm, to help set whatever was finished cooking onto the plates that Mrs Tozier and Beverly had set out. Stan lifted a neat coil of cable from Eddie's path without blinking, setting it back down again and continuing what he was doing.

"What d'you think, Stan?" Ben called over, purely to break the jewish boy's concentration, "How's it look from down there?"

Stan lifted his head, gave a cursory glance to the collected splurge of colour, and met Ben's eye again with a tiny, wry smile.

"Atrocious." he answered neatly, before turning back to the cables.

His lips could be seen to turn up into a real smile when Ben's belly-laugh answered him, and Beverly laughed so suddenly from the kitchen that the sound was quickly followed by a sharp cry from Eddie and the sound of something soft and heavy hitting the floor. Five head turned towards the kitchen door, where a distinct cloud of white rose from the floor.

Maggie was giggling so hard that she and Beverly were holding each other up as Eddie jumped straight into action and scurried to fetch a broom, but even the controlled look on his face was broken at the sight of Bev and Richie's mom, coated in flour.

"Bill, darling, would you be a dear and fetch me more flour from the store?" Maggie called through amongst the helpless laughter, and the living room dissolved into chuckles as Bill called back that he would.

~.~

Richie stepped back from the desk with a satisfied hum, reaching up to adjust his glasses before realising he'd just smeared them with dust. After taking them off, he cleaned them on the corner of his shirt, smiling to himself at the thought of how Eddie would fuss at him for doing it, and looked at the completed task.

To keep himself and his brain busy, he'd taken all the books and bits and pieces from the desktop and underneath, and had wiped it all down with one of the old rags that Eddie had insist they keep for cleaning purposes. Not that much cleaning got done, if Eddie himself wasn't doing it. Once he'd done that, he dusted off every book, every little box of nails, jar of screws and clips and all sorts of other things, and had put them all back neatly, like a game of Tetris.

Now, looking at the desk, he felt one part dumb for wasting his time, and one part kinda proud of himself. And then, of course, though he'd never mention to them that he'd done it - because what kind of fucking dweeb _voluntarily_ cleans shit on his birthday? - he felt the briefest flicker of want for praise.

Whatever. It was tidy now, and if nobody else noticed, he knew Eddie would.

As soon as he felt the warm glow of that thought, though, his mood was spoiled once more, and his brain went right back to thinking about Eddie. Richie let out a groan and turned on his heel to stare intently around the Clubhouse for something else to do.

~.~

Bill tossed Eddie's now-empty backpack over his shoulders, fresh pack of flour safely inside, and swung his leg back over his bike. Eddie was nothing if not efficient, so Bill had another stop to make before heading back to the party preparation. As he rounded the corner on his bicycle though, he spotted a familiar dark head entering the very building he himself was about to, and spat a curse. He dismounted his bike and wheeled it into the closest alleyway, leaning it out of sight against one wall as he peered around the brickwork to look at the ice cream parlour and debate what to do.

He hoped the old man running the place would know not to mention to Richie the secret order Eddie had put in the week before, before he realised that if Richie decided to sit at one of the booths, he'd _have_ to go in and be seen by him.

"Fuck."

Bill bit his lip and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, staring at the pastel-blue door and waiting. He'd give it five minutes. That was plenty of time for Richie, who often drew out the process of choosing his flavour simply to bug the others. In truth, Bill knew Richie always knew what he wanted the second he stepped inside, he just enjoyed playing the fool.

He was right. In under two minutes, the familiar form of his friend exited the store, cone in hand. Bill let out a sigh of relief, waiting till Richie wandered off in the direction of the arcade before grabbing his bike and wheeling it across the road.

No sooner was he inside, however, than the bell over the door tinkled again. An automatic glance over his shoulder gave him a falling sensation in his gut. His face twisted in despair.

"R-r-richie! I thought y-you'd gone!"

In place of the shit-eating grin he expected, Richie barely raised a smile, stepping closer to let the person in front of Bill pass by on their way out.

"Heya, Big Bill."

Bill glanced at the counter, only one person in front of him, and bit his lip. Eddie'd have a fit if he ruined a surprise.

"Relax." Richie hummed, licking his cone and meeting Bill's eye, "I know about the party."

Bill turned, opening his mouth to act innocent, but Richie's mouth finally became a real grin.

"It's cool, you guys doing it."

"Richie…"

Richie shook his head, and then had to push his glasses up his nose.

"I won't tell Eddie, if you don't. Mom says he's-" his voice wavered a little on their friend's name, and he hoped Bill hadn't heard it, "put a lot of work into it."

Bill closed his mouth, shoulders slumping a little. He nodded, giving Richie a baleful look. Richie only grinned more.

"You taking a break? Spaghetti Man too much for you?"

Bill's snort was amused, but when he rolled his eyes, he smiled.

"Y-you know it."

Richie laughed.

"But a-actually I'm… uh, p-picking something up."

He shot Richie a pained glance as his turn at the counter came, and Richie nodded, glancing away awkwardly. Bill stared at him curiously as he waited for the man serving to wipe his hands, but Richie avoided his eyes.

"Y-you okay, Richie?"

"Hm? Me? Oh, yeah. Peachy keen, Bill. Always am."

He threw in a salute for good measure, his voice slipping into one of his imitations, but Bill wasn't convinced.

"P-pick up for K-Kaspbrak?" he asked, when prompted, and smiled politely when the man left to head through to the back freezers.

"What'd he pick?" Richie asked suddenly, huge dark eyes pinning Bill down.

Bill only grinned and shook his head.

"Nuh uh. It's b-bad enough you s-saw me here. I'm n-not risking m-my neck any further."

Richie's grin was bright as though he'd expected nothing less, and Bill grinned back. Richie twisted his cone slowly against his tongue while they waited, the quiet comfortable between them. Bill could sense it, in the air, whatever it was that Richie was wrestling with saying, and he let it hang there. When he'd paid the man, slipped the rucksack from his back, carefully retrieved the sizeable paper bag and placed it reverently on top of the flour before zipping it up, Richie was looking at him like he might have decided to speak.

He didn't say anything, though, until they'd made it outside to Bill's bike.

"D'you think that…"

Richie trailed off, fiddling with his glasses and staring down the street Bill had thought he'd disappeared down.

"I g-gotta get this b-back before it m-melts." Bill prompted softly, and Richie looked at him with a tight smile.

"Yeah, okay."

He cleared his throat before Bill could say anything else, and when he glanced at Bill again, his eyes were bright with his grin and Bill could see there wasn't going to be anything more said. Richie tossed him another salute, grinning toothily as he stepped backwards, spring in his step.

"See ya later, Big Bill!"

"Bye Richie!" Bill called after him, but Richie had already loped away, leaving Bill to watch him thoughtfully.

"W-weird."

He slung his leg over his bike and headed back the way he'd come, wondering what it was that Richie looked so worried about, and whether he'd ever decide to tell the Losers.

~.~


	5. Chapter 5

Eddie hovered while Beverly walked the tray of cupcakes across the room, and when she'd placed them safely on the table she swatted him playfully and laughed.

"Would you _relax_? You're making me nervous."

Eddie gave her a tight, sheepish smile for approximately three seconds, before the thoughtful, busy look was back in his eyes. Bev's exasperated groan was greeted with amusement from their friends.

"What's left?" Stan asked, stretching his arms above his head as he got up from the carpet, all cables safely connected where they needed to be.

He looked over Eddie's shoulder as Bev slipped back to the kitchen, and traced his finger down the list Eddie was dutifully checking off as tasks were completed. The list was impressive, more than half done, but still long. Stan leaned against Eddie's back, bumping the shorter boy's temple with his chin. Eddie leaned back against him for a second, and Stan gave him a small smile.

"We're doing great, Eddie." he hummed, soft-eyed when Eddie glanced up at him, "Loosen up a touch. We'll have it all done in no time."

Eddie did relax then, smiling a little chagrinned, and making Stan chuckle.

"Give me another job." he asked, blinking expectantly.

"Is the other TV set up?" Eddie glanced round.

"Mhm. All present and correct."

"It's mostly food, now." Eddie murmured apologetically, but Stan only blinked again, waiting.

Eddie grinned gratefully.

"Wanna put a billion tiny pieces of cheese on sticks?"

Stan gave a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes, but turned on his heel without further complaint, leaving Eddie to snicker at his back.

"We're done here, Eddie." Mike called as Wentworth was descending the ladder, "Do we do windows next?"

"Please!" Eddie responded eagerly, considerably less bossy thanks to Stan.

Mike gave him a playful salute and collected a small pile of paper shapes from the corner where Eddie had emptied his rucksack to give it to Bill. Eddie marked lights off the list, and bit his lip as he read the remaining items. They really were doing well. Stan was right, Eddie needed to chill out.

~.~

The sunlight was a soothing kind of warmth on Richie's face as he lay on the grass in the park, soaking into his skin gentle and familiar, promising that summer was coming. He was absolutely risking being spotted by Bowers and his gang if they passed through, lying out in the open like he was, but Richie thought that maybe his luck would hold and the town bullies would been sleeping in, it being Saturday and still not even noon.

There was a bird in a tree, somewhere nearby, that was singing the same song over and over, and Richie had let it take hold of his agitated mind and lead it around and around, almost trance-like. It was peaceful, the sleepy sounds of the town drifting over. He'd definitely had worse birthdays.

As he lay, thinking about nothing and letting the sun soak into his very soul, his luck did eventually run out.

Maybe encountering Bowers would be better than the intrusive yell of his thoughts, growing bored of the bird as suddenly as its spell had taken hold. Richie opened his eyes with a groan, staring at the almost painfully vivid blue of the sky as his inner voices started up the same dance he'd been dragged along on all morning.

As though summoned by the thought, a phantom pain twinged in his soulmark. Stupid fucking thing. He turned his head to look at it, where it peeked from his sleeve. Blades of grass tickled his cheek and pushed under his glasses, but it didn't matter. He knew the words off by heart already. He was pretty sure he'd never be able to forget them, even if he tried.

Even if he hit a rock jumping into the Quarry and got amnesia like that dude in that film they watched one time. They were burned into the back of his eyelids like they were burned into his skin.

What kind of person was he going to end up being, in the future, to warrant that kind of reaction from someone he'd just met? What would he be doing, in that moment? Would it be a misunderstanding? Or, perhaps his biggest fear, would Richie's soulmate just be a dick?

That wasn't supposed to happen. Soulmates were supposed to be your perfect match, weren't they? But bad people existed. Henry Bowers existed, Sonia Kaspbrak existed. Richie wondered if Eddie's dad Frank had really been Sonia's soulmate. He didn't remember the man, from when they were little. He'd died so long ago. Did Eddie remember him? Was Sonia always a bad person, or had Frank dying made her evil?

Richie's stomach turned sour, and he tried to force himself not to think about the horrid woman who made his best friend miserable. He hated her, hated her with more ferocity than he'd ever hated anything. He probably hated her more than he had hated It, even when it was terrorising his friends and showing him what awful things lay in his heart.

Richie had spent a long time convincing himself that he wasn't something dirty, after they'd killed It. The Losers had talked about how it took their biggest fears and made them twisted and tried its best to convince them that they _deserved_ to be destroyed by It, because they were dirty, or broken, or disgusting themselves.

Not one of the Losers were any of those things. Which meant that Richie couldn't be, either. It had taken a long, long time for him to decide that, and he still felt it sometimes, that shame right in the pit of his belly. But if some people were gay and had soulmates that were gay, could being gay _really_ be something unnatural? When soulmates were their natural match?

Richie closed his eyes again, and saw Eddie's face, the way he looked when he found Richie in the Barrens by himself, face tear-streaked and dirty, blood streaming from the hit Bowers had gotten on him before he'd managed to lose him and his goons.

Richie didn't _enjoy_ bleeding, or being in pain, or being sick. That would be fucking stupid. There'd have to be something wrong with him, to enjoy that. But he liked the way Eddie treated him, when he was. Like he was precious, like Eddie was scared he might disappear right in front of him. Richie wanted that, in a soulmate. Someone who would care about him when he was weak, someone who wouldn't leave him behind, even if they were lost in the sewers deep under their town, being chased by a manifestation of pure evil.

What Richie wanted in a soulmate, he realised for like the billionth time, was Eddie _fucking_ Kaspbrak.

He drew in a huge, long breath. He filled his lungs as far as they would go, till it felt like he'd filled himself right down to his toes. And then he let it go, a long, hissing stream of air until he was deflated, trying to imagine all the horrible thoughts in his head hissing out of him with it.

He didn't feel any better, when he got up and fetched his bicycle. He still felt fucking miserable.

~.~

Bill could see Eddie getting giddy as the list travelled ever closer to completion, and couldn't help but smile every time he looked at his oldest friend. But for the last of the buffet lunch that Bev and Maggie were finalising, everything looked pretty much set. Looking around the room, Bill could recognise the mood painted in everybody's faces.

Wentworth had put the record player on, Ben lighting up in delight when asked to help choose the music, and Bev was swaying a little to the beat as she moved around the kitchen. Mike was tapping his fingers against his knee, Ben was humming softly.

It had sounded corny, when Eddie first pitched his idea, not too long after Bill's own birthday party. It was clear from the very first mention of it that Eddie had already thought it all through every which way before letting them all in on it. They'd agreed pretty easily, amused and charmed by Eddie's unique brand of controlled enthusiasm, but Bill didn't think any of them had realised just how magical it really would be.

He looked around the room, and he could feel the planning, the work, the love that had gone into it. He looked at Eddie, and he saw the absolutely devoted effort that radiated from him, and he hoped that Richie saw it too.

He touched a hand to Stan's elbow when the boy next came near him, and Stan followed his line of thought as easily as he followed his line of sight.

"He better appreciate this." he spoke Bill's mind quietly, smiling wryly when Bill nodded.

"It's b-been a lot of w-work. For Eddie, especially."

Stan nodded, casting his eye over the busy brunette with the clipboard, and felt the pulse of affection at the determined expression that fit so familiarly on Eddie's face.

"It's come together really nicely." he admitted, glancing around the transformed room, "He's really captured it."

Bill grinned.

"D-did you doubt him?"

Stan's chuckle was soft and low, and his glance was wry.

"No."

As he answered, he caught movement outside the window, and tipped his head so that Bill would look too. Richie was coming up the driveway, pushing his bicycle with a slow, deliberate tread. He didn't look like the Richie Stan knew, not really. His shoulders were slumped and his head hung low, most of his face hidden by the long snarl of his fringe. But it was easy to read the strange, sad air that he carried, and when Stan glanced back at Bill, the two shared a look.

Bill twisted his mouth to one side, looking undecided, and Stan shook his head.

"Let him come in on his own," he advised, watching Richie disappear around the side of the house, "get himself together."

It was a weird, stark thing to say. They didn't often acknowledge things like that out loud, and it showed on Bill's face when he met Stan's eye again.

"L-Let's get e-e-e-verything finished, th-then."

~.~


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The awaited chapter.  
> Still more to come, but for now, validating fluffery.  
> Happy Reading!

"I think he's outside, dear!"

Richie heard his mother's voice and grimaced, folding himself smaller where he sat on the step of the back porch, his knees tucked tight against his chest and his fingers cutting into his sleeves. He heard the excitement inside, the music and laughter of his friends, but he didn't have the stomach yet to join them. He'd been sitting for a while, trying to pull together a better mood, but he still felt… fragile. Like the next person who spoke to him might shatter the final thin facade he'd managed to craft.

He couldn't stop, no matter how he tried, picturing how awful it was going to be when his soulmate didn't want him. It had taken full hold of his brain and he couldn't shake it. It could be years before then, he knew that. But knowing that didn't help. It only made it worse, thinking that he might have this pain, this awful fear and self-loathing, inside his heart for so much longer.

The door behind him opened. The familiar footsteps crept over, sneakers appearing, the ankles of those dumb long socks even under his joggers, his knees. He settled beside Richie close enough that he could feel the warmth of Eddie's arm leaking across the space between them. Eddie didn't say anything, and that was how Richie knew he must look as shitty as he felt, because Eddie was waiting for him to take charge, and to either brush off his concern or spill what was in his head.

He sighed and eventually tucked his head to the side, cheek squished atop his knees, to meet the worried brown eyes of his best friend. All the things he wanted to say escaped him. He looked at the familiar face of his best friend, at the tight line of Eddie's mouth, at the way his eyes flickered across Richie's face, at the way his hands were tucked under his armpits, arms crossing his chest, even though the March sun was comfortably warm.

He looked at all that, and he felt his chest squeeze tightly, and he knew that getting over Eddie was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever have to do.

"Hey, Eds." he mumbled, hearing the misery in his own voice.

Eddie was biting his lip, his eyes still flickering over Richie's face as though deciding what to say. Richie felt more and more awful as he watched, growing worried himself that something was wrong with Eddie, too.

"Eddie?"

Finally, the eyes left his face, and the boy awkwardly uncrossed his arms, drummed his fingers against his knees, and then drew them up to mirror Richie's.

"I refuse to believe it's you," Eddie whispered back almost inaudibly, "you fucking asshole."

All the air left his lungs.

What?

Richie blinked as the world seemed to teeter and fall still on its axis, as Eddie looked to him with those doe eyes, looking anxious, nervous, and like he was _waiting_. Richie couldn't breathe, aware that the burning in his wrist wasn't real, not anymore, but his pulse racing underneath most certainly was.

"Oh my god." Eddie breathed, his eyes widening as he watched him struggle to find the words, "It _is_ , isn't it?"

Richie felt lost, unsure, his brain fixated on the strange, out-of-place sound of Eddie saying the words inked in his skin. His hand twitched, and Eddie's gaze darted to it, that bottom lip disappearing back into his mouth. Richie felt like every cell in his body was drying up.

"Rich?"

"You… You said it." he answered stupidly, finally tearing his eyes from the face he knew better than his own, staring at the hidden skin of his wrist, pressed so tightly against his shins.

Eddie's touch was cool, making him jump as fingers closed gently on his arm, as Eddie showed him the dark scribble on his wrist that Richie knew hadn't been there the day before. A distant part of his brain noted that Eddie's watch was lying on the porch beside him. When he looked back up, petrified he was going to find out it was a joke, Richie's brain put the pieces together with a painful _snap_ , and he finally drew a sharp, surprised breath.

Eddie looked nervous, his teeth still worrying his lip, his eyes searching Richie's face, but all Richie could think was how there were billions of people in the world that he could have been given, and he'd been given the very best of them all. He'd never felt so lucky in all his life. All this time, all the years he'd known Eddie, all the months and summers he'd pined, hiding from who he was, terrified to voice the lurking, frightening love for him seated deep in his soul.

His next breath tasted sweet, and he managed to unlock his frozen, rigid fingers, to hold his arm in the space between them, palm upwards to show Eddie the neat, dark letters. Eddie stared, his fingers reaching out to trace them, as though making sure he was really seeing them, before his soulful gaze sought Richie's again.

"I'm sorry." he whispered, sounding it, "I… I wanted to be absolutely sure, so I thought I… I'm sorry."

"You picked your words on purpose?" Richie croaked, staring at him.

Eddie started turning pink, his gaze dropping, those dark eyelashes brushing his sun-kissed cheeks. A volatile happiness began to bubble up from Richie's toes as what had just happened sank in.

"I was… I thought maybe it'd be you. When I got my mark. And I… I wondered if maybe it'd really give you what I said."

Richie gave a strangled half-laugh, shoving Eddie with a growled yell.

"You _dick_ , do you know how fucking scared I was that I was gonna get some dude who hated me the second he met me?"

Eddie's eyes were still apologetic, but he'd spied Richie's relieved smile and was smiling too. He didn't say anything about Richie's use of the word dude, and somehow a whole lot of the fear that had been snarling and digging into his soul for the last few years just… vanished. Richie chuckled weakly, running one hand through his hair and letting all the tension out in one huge rush. His fingers fiddled with his glasses, adjusting them on his nose as he just looked and looked, and _looked_ at Eddie. The first thing that popped into his head, of course, he said out loud.

"You know this means I'm going to marry you some day, right?"

Eddie's laugh was surprised and awkward and kind of wonderful, before his hand snuck into Richie's, pressing their soulmarks together with a shy, doting kind of glance. Richie's heart felt like it could burst.

"I already regret it." he answered wryly, and Richie squeezed his hand hard as he laughed.

Eddie's smile curved at the corners, the sun lighting amber notes in his incredibly brown eyes, and Richie wanted to tell him _everything_. Every thought, every feeling, every fear he had. Eddie was his, Eddie was _his_ soulmate. Not anyone else's. The universe had given Richie the single greatest gift he'd ever received, and his throat started choking up as he realised it.

"I… uhm." he started, trailing off with a heat blooming across his face when the sound pitched and cracked.

"You what?" Eddie asked, amused, his mouth turning further upwards in a way that made Richie really, _really_ want to kiss him.

"I already carved our names into the Kissing Bridge when we were thirteen."

Eddie looked startled, his mouth dropping open in a small circle, and Richie grinned at knowing he'd never been suspected.

Eddie looked at him, seriously and studiously as though seeing him properly, and then his face just lit up, like an angel, or a fucking kid on Christmas, and Richie knew he'd definitely been given the best soulmate there had ever been.

"I've liked you forever, it feels like." Eddie offered in return, his smile timid and gentle and utterly perfect.

"Me too."

Eddie's growing grin was bashful as he looked away, his face flushing beautifully, creating a breath-taking kind of image. Richie was struck, quite absolutely, with a familiar urge.

"I guess this means your mom and me have to break up."

Eddie shoved him instantly with that familiar, expected screech, but he didn't let go of Richie's hand as they both dissolved into giggles, and Richie knew, with every fibre of his being, that his shitty soulmark was absolutely fucking worth it.

"Come on," Eddie eventually got to his feet, tugging insistently at Richie's hand when he didn't follow him, "your party hasn't even started yet."

When Richie finally moved, Eddie let him go to scoop up his discarded watch, securing the strap back in place. Something in Richie's stomach twisted kind of awkwardly as he watched the dark words disappear again, and he suddenly felt a little afraid.

"Are we telling the others?" he asked, and he could hear the babyish, timid pitch in it before Eddie's expression told him he had, too.

Eddie bit his lip, glancing at the door to the house.

"I… I don't know." he admitted softly, and Richie felt his heart fall.

The air felt too warm, as his fingered his own mark, only half-hidden by his sleeve, and he suddenly felt awfully like he was going to cry.

"You're still… We're still…" his words dried up as he looked at Eddie helplessly.

"Still what?"

Eddie looked anxious. Eddie looked _afraid_ , and suddenly, Richie realised why. His soulmate was a boy. He'd always sort of known that, deep inside himself, never questioning how he knew, why he was so sure. He'd hoped for Eddie, for at _least_ the last three years, a hope he'd never really acknowledged or questioned either, until today.

But, had Eddie always known? Had _Eddie_ known for years his soulmate was going to be a guy? Had Eddie ever hoped, ever even _considered_ , that it might be Richie?

Who in their right mind hopes for a gay soulmate, growing up in Derry?

"Rich?"

Eddie touched him gently on the arm and Richie jumped as though burned, meeting Eddie's gaze and realising he was dangerously close to tears. He blinked, swiping one hand under his glasses as he cleared his throat. Eddie didn't say anything. He made no comment, no joke, about how Richie must look. Richie burned with shame and looked away.

"We're still what?"

He swallowed.

"We're still gonna… _date_ , right?" he whispered, glancing desperately at Eddie, heart in his throat and feeling exposed.

Eddie's face shifted in surprise, before he blinked up at him, responding slowly.

"You want to?" he asked, and Richie gave a dry, humourless laugh by accident.

When Eddie only looked wounded though, he reached out to take the shorter boy's hand. His _soulmate's_ hand. God, Eddie was-

"You're my soulmate." he blurted, slapping a hand over his mouth when he did, unsure why.

Eddie blinked again before his face lit up in a breath-taking smile, and he squeezed Richie's hand _hard_.

"Yeah, yeah I am."

He was giving Richie a look that Richie wasn't sure he could handle, too full of clear, open affection. He wasn't sure he could take that if they weren't going to be properly together.

"So are we?"

A brief shadow passed over Eddie's face, and he bit his lip again. Richie waited, hopeful and afraid, until Eddie softly sighed.

"Can we… talk about it? Later?"

Richie felt his shoulders drop. Disappointment stung his heart. But he nodded, fixing his gaze on his shoes and trying not to feel utterly rejected. Eddie wasn't saying _no_ , but he wasn't saying _yes_ , either. At least he seemed okay to be Richie's soulmate. That itself was better than anything else Richie had feared, today.

"Hey," Eddie murmured, stepping right up beside him, their arms brushing, clasped hands pressed between their hips, "we'll talk tonight, okay? If I can get away, or if… If I can't, you could come over."

He bit his lip when Richie met his eye again, but Richie could see he was trying. A rush of affection filled his chest.

"Okay." he answered softly, watching Eddie smile gently, "Yeah. Tonight."

And then, he watched a sweet pink bloom across Eddie's cheeks, and as he opened his mouth to ask what could possibly have put it there, Eddie popped up on his toes and pressed a chaste, soft kiss to the corner of Richie's mouth.

"Come on," he said, before Richie could say anything, before he could _process_ what had happened, his face just as red as Eddie's as the shorter boy stepped away and tugged his hand again, "the others are waiting."

~.~


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cute birthday fluff.  
> I love these kids. They deserve good things, dammit.  
> Happy Reading!

Richie followed the guiding tug of Eddie's hand still clasped tightly in his, his free hand pressed across his eyes in lieu of a blindfold. Eddie had taken his glasses to make the process easier - and stop him being tempted to cheat - and it did funny things to Richie's stomach that he could still feel the gentle brush of Eddie's fingers at his temples as he'd taken them from his face.

He squeezed his hand without thinking, and Eddie squeezed back instantly, feeding the butterflies in his stomach. _God_ , he loved him. He fucking loved Eddie Kaspbrak. He was so screwed. He'd already given up fighting the grin on his lips. Worrying about later could wait till, well, later. For now, he was going to damn well enjoy knowing that Eddie was _his_.

Eddie led him through the kitchen, around the table, through the door. He led him into the living room and halted, still holding Richie's hand. Richie felt hot all over, because he could practically feel every eye on him, and he wondered if Eddie cared that the others could see their laced fingers. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, and before Eddie could say anything, he did what he did best.

"Is this the part where you guys tie me up naked and throw me in a car?"

Eddie did let go then, poking Richie hard in the side and making him jump and choke on his laugh.

"Beep beep, loser." was his amused answer, before he felt the cool legs of his glasses being pressed against his palm.

He drew the moment out, hearing the half-amused huffs from the people standing silently around him. Keeping his eyes firmly closed, he made a show of unfolding his glasses, shaking them out, shaking his hair out, and balancing them delicately on the bridge of his nose, pausing for a second.

There it was, that snort. Stanley, for sure, and Richie grinned as he pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose and opened his eyes, witty retort on his tongue, immediately assaulted with eight chorused voices at the top of their lungs as they threw what felt like half a bucket of confetti at him.

"SURPRISE!"

What he'd been about to say, however, died on his tongue as he drew a sharp breath.

His living room had been transformed. The lighting was low, his mom's blinds lowered across the top halves of the windows to narrow the late morning light that was streaming in. The sofa was against the wrong wall, to his left. The lights his dad put on their Christmas tree every year were strung along the walls, blinking on the high setting he liked most, winking in and out as though bumping into each other. In a moment of perfect timing, the fading song on the record player died as the thought popped into his head that he liked the high setting best because it reminded him of-

"The arcade." he breathed, oblivious to the raw awe in his tone as his eyes found the windows.

Lining the bottom of one were a bunch of coloured paper shapes, blocky and familiar, fitting together as they crawled up the glass. He stared at the colours, the yellow L shape, a purple cube, a long red rectangle. Tetris, as paper shapes clearly cut and coloured by hand. On the other window, familiar little green and white shapes, and descending, patchy rows of aliens.

"Space Invaders," he gasped, a surprised laugh bursting from his mouth as his friends all grinned at him, "you made Space Invaders for my- holy _shit_ you guys!"

His gaze roamed, the blinking lights that filled the dimmed room with that familiar atmosphere, the sound of- He spied the two televisions arranged side by side by the right-hand wall, the big one from the den that he played games on whenever he could plead a turn from his father. On one screen, the start menu of Street Fighter, on the other the blinking screen and rise and fall of the engine noises of Street Racer. Bill had brought his Sega and Richie's own Atari was connected to the other.

Richie felt his throat tickle, and laughed to hide the sound of clearing it, noticing the walls. He grinned widely then, spying the familiar, worn, torn posters. Some were the real deal, ones he recognised from the Arcade, others hand-drawn, one new and glossy.

"How…"

He turned, his gaze unable to settle, crawling along string lights and game posters, returning to the windows, and then looping back, the familiar beeps of the games consoles, waiting for someone to pick up a controller. The Losers stood silently, watching him, but he could barely understand what he was seeing, let alone stop to feel like a bug under a jar as they watched him so intensely.

Against the end of the wall the sofa usually sat at, his mom's patio tables, decorated with a bright, summery tablecloth patterned with palm trees, and plates and bowls heaped with different party foods. A line of coloured plastic cups that he recognised from many a summer afternoon at the Uris household. They stood proudly, each filled with popcorn like the cardboard cartons you could get at the Arcade, or the Aladdin. His heart was suddenly pounding hard in his ears and he could feel his eyes burning as he swallowed thickly.

"You _guys_ …" he managed to repeat, because his brain had stopped making real words as he stared.

Beverly swallowed a snicker, and when he met her sea-green eyes, he felt himself blushing.

"This is _crazy_." he finally snapped his brain back in gear, taking in all their grinning, proud faces.

He looked to Eddie last, and his heart lurched hard at the clear affection he could see, coated in smug amusement as his best friend smirked.

"Do you like it?" Bev finally asked, and Richie realised he'd been staring as he threw his gaze back to her.

Her grin was wide, but there was hope in her eyes. He beamed at her.

"You guys are the fucking _best_." he answered honestly, and her pleased shriek was their cue.

Richie laughed delightedly as he was assaulted, six warm bodies crashing into him and hugging each other close and wishing him Happy Birthday. His balance wobbled, arms crossing shoulders, his waist, hair everywhere, the mingling scents of cologne and the smell of Bev's perfume. Someone stepped on his toes, someone shoved so close their elbow dug into his ribs. He pressed his face into Bev's hair where she was latched against his chest, and pressed a kiss against her temple through his laughter.

"Seriously, this is- dude. _Shit_."

There was playful pushing and shoving as the group hug finally dissolved, and Bev threw her arms around his neck to give him a messy, wet kiss on the cheek. He wiped it off with a roll of his eyes and a laugh as she beamed and cackled.

"Shit." Richie breathed again, looking around the room, "This is." his throat caught with emotion, but although they must all have heard it, not one of the Losers said anything about it.

"Thanks." he finished lamely, not trusting himself to say anything further, glancing at them almost desperately for _something_ to grasp hold of to catch his equilibrium.

"It was all Eddie's idea." Stanley said, "He's been running around like a headless chicken, squawking at us all morning." and that was exactly what Richie needed.

Thank the Gods for Stanley fucking Uris.

A familiar, wicked grin split his face as he turned to the predictably reddening hypochondriac. Eddie was trying and failing to scowl at the smirk curling Stan's mouth, and when his eyes flickered Richie's way, there was something almost nervous in them. Richie pushed aside the feeling, for it was in his own gut too, and slung an arm around him to drag him closer.

Eddie struggled and protested, but Richie tugged him against his side and locked him in place, shoving one hand in the neat brown locks and mussing them as madly as he could.

"Get the fuck off me, dickwad!"

Richie laughed and danced away when he finally allowed Eddie's shove to move him, spinning out of range of the swatting hands. Eddie was red-faced and trying _really_ hard not to laugh as he attempted to smooth down his hair again, but Richie could see it there, delighted, in the edges of his mouth and eyes, and when he let his own grin soften, it broke free.

"You're an asshole." Eddie stated, because he had to.

Richie nodded emphatically as the others laughed.

"Absolutely. And you're the cutest damn thing this side of Maine."

Eddie scowled and bitched predictably, setting the others off again, but when Richie returned to his side and slid an arm around his waist when Maggie brought out the birthday cake and everyone huddled close to watch him blow out the candles, Eddie didn't shove him off.

~.~

Crowded around one of the tables in chairs much too close together for real comfort, the Losers teased and bickered and laughed and traded foods. Crammed between Ben and Eddie, Richie was doing his best to wind the little spitfire up, sneaking thinks from his plate when he wasn't looking, holding things out of reach, and generally enjoying the shorter boy being in his face, telling him what a child he was at a hundred miles an hour, their knees and elbows bumping almost constantly.

The Losers and his parents had put almost as much thought into the spread as they had the room, filling plates with things one might buy at the Arcade, and the Losers feasted on hotdogs, popcorn, pizza, mini sliders, greasy fries, as well as party staples like those tiny sausage rolls he knew Eddie loved but his mother never allowed him to have. Stan had put all the little cubes of cheese, and the cocktail wieners and pickled onions on toothpicks, he learned. Bev helped his mom make his birthday cake, and made the cookies herself. Mike helped ice the cupcakes, Bill got stuck opening all the chip packets and filling all the bowls with M&Ms and Skittles.

In all, Richie traded playful insults and jokes with his friends on a kind of high he knew was love. Every aspect of his birthday had been thought out, every little detail ironed and arranged to perfection. Even the tablecloth was reminiscent of his loud hawaiian shirts. Bill and Stan went all the way to Bangor for it, and the paper plates to match. Nobody was sure how they managed to get summer print in late winter, but they had.

Richie ate cake and bumped shoulders with Ben and spent an inordinate amount of effort collecting as many little pieces of confetti as he could find and dropping them into Eddie's hair while trying not to be seen. And Eddie spent the whole time moving in and out of Richie's personal space, putting sandwiches on Richie's plate amongst all the sugar items, and lecturing him good-naturedly about eating something substantial.

Eddie even drank Coke, and Eddie _never_ drank Coke. But when Richie passed him a glass with a toothy smile, Eddie rolled his eyes and took it, and didn't even complain that Richie's right arm spent the whole meal draped over his shoulders.

Overall, it was the best birthday meal Richie could ever remember having, and knowing it was (mostly) all Eddie's doing only made his heart skip along at an above average rate, and fill his chest with pleasant sensations.

~.~


	8. Chapter 8

Bev drew her fingers slowly through the thickest part of Eddie's hair, the back of his head propped on her thigh. Her foot swung gently where it was crossed over the other leg, and Ben's shoulder brushed her shin whenever he shifted one way or the other as he watched Mike and Richie race, as though he were making the turns with the vehicles on the screen. Eddie's socked feet crossed Stan's lap at the other end of the sofa, and Stan was sketching on a pad resting atop Eddie's shins. Eddie was reading one of the comics they'd bought Richie for his birthday, and Bev smiled at the reminder that Richie had put up little to no fight about Eddie reading it before he had the chance to.

Bill was building a house with the pack of playing cards they'd finally discarded after several rounds of bad poker, his tongue poking out between his teeth every time he had to start a new level.

Overall the atmosphere was warm and cosy, and as she untangled the kinks in Eddie's hair, Bev was happy. Whenever her fingers brushed a particular spot above Eddie's temple, the boy would loose a gentle hum in his throat, and she'd bitten down the urge to tell him he sounded a little bit like a cat purring, for fear he'd stop.

Sunlight streamed in through the half-closed blinds, bright and yellow even for March, and shining through the coloured paper to cast rainbows on the carpet. It lit Bill's hair from behind, making him look angelic in his concentration. Things were calm for a while; the sounds of the game, and flicking pages. The soft scratch of Stan's pencil on paper as he drew an exotic bird from memory as Bev watched.

She'd helped with the posters they'd copied from the Arcade, the ones they couldn't plead from the manager. The ones they didn't rescue from the trash that one day in February that Bill had the weird urge to pass that part of town on the long way home from the Barrens, just him and Mike when everyone else had long since gone home for dinner. But Stan was the real artist, conjuring up the lines of text from memory, even though he frequented the Arcade almost as little as she did.

He'd been teaching her to draw since summer, and she was finally getting somewhere with it. With his patience and help, she could see him being a really good schoolteacher if he wanted. He told her she had a great eye for detail and colour, and had asked her if she'd considered going into fashion design.

Initially, she'd felt it the most feminine thing he could have suggested, but Stanley didn't think of her like that. None of them did. She wasn't just a girl to them. Stan really thought she had the skills to do it, and she'd started believing him as their drawing sessions had filled the winter with practice.

"Aaarggh!" Mike suddenly yelped, every head turning his way bar Eddie's, " _Again_ , Richie? Jeeez. Do you ever lose?"

"Nope." Richie grinned, setting down his controller and stretching his hands high above his head to crack the knuckles, "I remain champion in all things."

"Besides Splatterhouse." Eddie murmured without looking up from the page he was on.

Richie leaned back on his hands and twisted to look at the boy in question, noting the smile tugging his mouth as he continued to read. Stan chuckled.

"One time, Spaghetti. I was defeated _one time_."

Eddie shrugged one shoulder, and both Mike and Bev laughed.

"One defeat is enough to break a streak."

Richie's grin was lazy, his eyes glinting behind his glasses as he looked Eddie up and down.

"Well, hey, if you wanna put your money where your mouth is…"

"I have witnesses." Eddie hummed, neglecting to rise to the bait so clearly being dangled, and turning a page in one unhurried, neat movement.

Bev took a sip from her glass to help swallow her chuckle, eyes flicking between them. The whole room was settling back, watching. Waiting, like they always did. Amusement slipping across faces as they watched them dance.

"You don't think you can do it again, you mean." Richie answered, nodding sagely, "I get it. It's okay to be intimidated by my skills."

Eddie snorted gently and rolled his eyes.

"I don't _need_ to do it again." he answered, finally turning his smug gaze Richie's way, "Because unless you beat me at it, _I'm_ reigning champion."

Beverly laughed that time, her giggles shaking Eddie so much he started laughing too. Mike slapped Richie on the shoulder.

"He has you there, man."

Richie was watching Eddie, playful smirk toying at his lips, and a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"What would it take?" he asked, raising an eyebrow when Eddie met his eye again, "To get you to play?"

Eddie played thoughtful, tapping his chin while the others sniggered. Richie huffed and crossed his arms, pulling faces as he exaggerated his impatience. Eddie finally turned back to his comic, throwing Richie a brief glance when the dark-haired boy made a questioning noise, and smiling innocently.

"No."

Bev cackled so suddenly that she spilled her drink and Eddie had to dive out of the way, toppling from her lap awkwardly and kicking Stan's sketchbook from his hand in the process. It sailed in a clean arc, and they all watched as it dropped, by some cursed chance, right in the centre of Bill's card house. There was a single, silent beat, before everybody dissolved into laughter.

"Richie!" Bill wailed, half amused and half mad, "I was nearly done!"

" _Me_?" was the answer, disbelieving dark eyes turning his way, "It was _Eddie_ who kicked it!"

Bill pouted, glaring at Richie as he spluttered and squawked his innocence, and from where he'd landed on the floor, Eddie howled helplessly, hardly able to breathe from laughing. It was several minutes before the giggles died down enough that Bev could tug him back into position, and by then Mike had convinced Stan to play him at Street Racer while Richie tugged out Splatterhouse with a grin, waggling both his eyebrows and the case in Eddie's direction.

Eddie shook out the comic and settle back down in Bev's lap, and even though he moaned for several minutes about how he was being neglected on his birthday, Richie didn't stop grinning. That is, until his mom asked who wanted ice-cream, and Richie found out that despite it being Eddie's least favourite flavour, his best friend and soulmate had chosen Rocky-road. Because it was _Richie's_ favourite. In place of his wide grin, Richie wore something softer as he wriggled onto the couch beside Eddie with his bowl.

Eddie leaned into his side when they were settled, a new record playing while the seven of them fell into companionable quiet. Unable to let the peace rest, though, he poked his spoon in Eddie's ice-cream to steal a chunk of marshmallow. Eddie made an unhappy sound and whacked Richie's spoon with his own, but otherwise made no move to stop him.

"Too kind, Eddie Spaghetti!" he chirped, leaning his face purposefully close to Eddie's like he frequently did, watching those brown doe-eyes turn his way before laying a sticky, wet kiss right on the shorter boy's forehead.

And all hell, of course, broke loose.

"Dude! What the _fuck_!" Eddie yelped, reeling away from him with a shrill whine, hand coming up to scrub at his skin, nose wrinkling adorably in disgust, "Dude what the _fuck!_ "

Richie nearly choked on his ice-cream as he leaned away from Eddie's badly aimed slap, bumping into Ben and nearly sending both of them sprawling. Eddie looked at him with wide, horrified eyes, practically in Beverly's lap, her bowl held above him as she looked over at Richie, reprimand on her face.

"C-can you not j-just let things b-b-b-be, for like _one_ time?"

Richie raised his shoulders, unable to even pretend he wasn't pleased with himself as Eddie scrubbed at his forehead with one hand and sent him a wounded, disgusted look.

"I can't help it, dude. He's just too cute, cute, _cute_!"

Eddie scowled and rolled his eyes as the others groaned and conversation fell into place, like always. But there was a small twitch to one corner of his mouth that Richie didn't miss. He slid off of Ben, shifting cautiously closer to Eddie as the brunette glared a warning at him. He settled back into their space, eyes questioning.

Eddie heaved a sigh and slumped against his side, making himself deadweight on purpose to jostle the taller boy. His ire soon dissipated, though, like Richie had expected. By the time their bowls were empty, or held melting leftovers, stacked neatly on the table curtesy of Mike, Eddie had practically melted himself. He moulded himself into the gap between Richie and Bev, his knees drawn up and resting under her arm, his head propped up on Richie's shoulder. He hadn't fought Richie when one arm was dropped over him, and didn't seem to mind the taller boy reading over his shoulder.

He even started the comic from the beginning. Richie rested his chin atop Eddie's head hopefully, silently delighted when he wasn't denied that touch either. Ben and Mike were co-oping Sonic, SEGA abandoned by Richie in favour of his Eddie cuddling time, while Stan and Bill battled and trash-talked each other in Street Fighter.

Richie was satisfied to mostly sit still, only shifting to bump Eddie's head with his own every now and then, when Bev was looking particularly intently at her fresh sketch. Each time, Eddie made a soft humming sound and pressed back against the contact, and Richie was content. At some point, he slid his arms loosely around the shorter boy, and if anybody took note, nobody mentioned it.

It wasn't really so strange, he reminded himself. He was always very physically affectionate with Eddie. He always had been. They said things in presses and touches that they couldn't face saying out loud. But since finding out that Eddie was his soulmate, Richie had felt every touch and every glance more keenly, and felt like anyone looking could see something had changed.

Eventually, Eddie stretched out of the circle of his limbs with a yawn, and dared Bev to join him on the now abandoned Atari. A tournament of sorts was set up, weighted almost unfairly against Richie to even out his better skill. The Losers dog-piled on the floor between turns, shoving and cuddling and generally enjoying the simplicity of their friendship.

Richie was sad to see Bev go when the sun was getting low, but he knew without her saying that it was best she did. Her dad was better left untested when it wasn't necessary. She hugged him hard on the doorstep and kissed his cheek.

"Barrens at ten." she commanded in parting as she climbed onto her bike, "Don't stay up too late!"

~.~


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fluff.  
> Angst later, probably.  
> But fluff now.  
> Happy Reading!

Richie punched the air as Bill slumped in defeat next to him, reluctantly completing Richie's offered high-five with an exasperated amusement on his face.

"Me next!" Ben chirped, still bright-eyed at the late hour, despite being in his pyjamas already.

Richie handed off the controller and uncurled from his cross-legged perch, stretching tall and listening to his limbs popping. With a yawn, he turned for the couch, face lighting pleasantly at the sight. Stan had taken up Bev's seat, elbow on the sofa arm and chin resting in his hand as he watched the others play, his other arm looped lazily over Eddie. Eddie's head rested above Stan's heart, and Richie guessed he'd slid from his shoulder.

Stan shared a glance with him as the approached. Eddie was fast asleep, knees tucked up against Stan's thigh. Richie's heart pulsed and squeezed gently in his chest as he paused in front of them. With a quiet snicker, he slid one arm under the hinge of Eddie's knees, and with Stan's help, repositioned their shortest friend as he slid into place beside Stan.

Eddie, now sprawled inelegantly across both their laps, turned his face into Richie's chest with a sleepy murmur, and all but stopped Richie's ability to breathe. Stan's look was quiet and knowing, his lips curling at the corners. Richie looked away with a snort, feeling caught out and scrambling for a witty thing to say.

It was hard to find his sense of manic humour, since his mom had picked up the phone and worked her magic on Sonia. Eddie's mom had seemed determined to say no, but Maggie was firm and friendly and she'd won out.

"I know," they listened to her agree gently, looking at the two of them where they stood with her in the hall, holding their breaths, "it's hard when they leave so early you don't see them all day. Eddie's just worked so hard, and given Richie such a wonderful birthday. We thought maybe he'd like to stay over as a thank you for all the superb work he put into making the day so special."

Richie swore his heart had stopped while waiting, before Eddie had to slap a hand over his squeaks of glee when Maggie had given them the thumbs up.

"Thanks so much Sonia. We will, absolutely. We'll make sure of it. See you soon."

Eddie had snickered at him when he hugged his mom hard for it, but Richie had been far too excited to care. All but Bev were staying. After he'd helped Mike and his dad return the den TV to its proper place, Richie had dragged Eddie in an enthusiastic but terrible waltz to the rocky song Ben had put on, making everybody laugh at them.

That had been hours ago, and despite all the sugar his best friend had consumed, he'd finally succumbed. Eddie never had been one for staying up late.

"Like a cat." Stan commented in amusement, his eyes twinkling when Richie hummed in agreement.

It was Stan's way of saying Eddie liked the contact. They never talked about it out loud, their shared want for all things contact. They didn't talk about a lot of things, like what had happened in the sewers, or how they'd gotten away. There were just some things in life you knew, with every fibre of yourself, and they didn't need said.

He ran a hand gently through Eddie's hair, his heart fluttering when Eddie answered the touch by burrowing further into his shirt. Stan gave a small huff and settled against Richie. With the warm blanket of a friend against either side, Richie was hard pressed to find any sarcasm at all, and for once he stayed quiet as the others finally called it quits and chose a movie to put on.

Ben was fastest, snagging the space next to Richie and coiling in it, worming close. Mike lay out atop his sleeping bag, chin propped in his hand as he watched, snacking on a forgotten bowl of M&Ms. Bill used his own sleeping bag as a blanket where he sat, leaning back against Stan's legs. Richie thought there were few things better than being crushed between his best friends, soulmate in his arms.

~.~

Eddie murmured against the warm press of fabric against his cheek. He was comfortable, warm and heavy with sleep, but something was rousing him. He gave another breathy groan and turned his face further into his pillow. There was a soft chuckle, Eddie's ears catching it despite his intent to return to deeper sleep. His sleeping bag shifted and tilted, and despite his best efforts, the grasp of sleep faded further as the faraway, hushed sounds became clearer.

"You wanna be the one to wake him up?"

That was Richie, his mutter amused, somewhere above Eddie's head. A thoughtful hum from Stan, a half-laugh that was definitely Bill.

"You can just say you don't want us to move him, y'know."

Eddie's sleeping bag twitched minutely, before the movement stopped.

"You jealous, Staniel?"

Stan snorted.

"Beep beep, Richie."

"Y-y-you can j-just say." Bill offered, his words awkward like he was telling a secret, but also amused.

Richie snorted, and gave a low chuckle.

"Jeez guys, you wanna wake him, wake him. Just don't say I didn't warn ya."

There was a shuffle just then, and a long yawn.

"You guys wakin' Eddie?" Ben asked, a touch of amusement in his tone, "Cuz I dibs not being involved with _that_."

Richie laughed again, and Eddie felt himself being jostled. He was waking rapidly now, and he opened his eyes blearily. Whatever was being said in answer to Ben was cut short, and Richie gave a teasing, low laugh.

"Ohh ho ho, you've done it now!" he cried in a terribly Southern accent, "The cutest Gremlin has woken!"

Eddie scowled and gave an irritated growl as he turned his head to blink at them all. It took him a second to realise he was half-blanketed, still on one of the sofas. What his partially asleep self had assumed was his sleeping bag was actually Richie, whose chest Eddie was half-draped over. He felt his face heating as he blinked and shoved himself into a sitting position, throwing his legs over Richie's middle without pause.

Richie didn't bother to sit up, laying still where he was. Eddie's heart fluttered at the realisation he'd been sandwiched in between Richie and the back of the sofa, and he swallowed down the sensory memory of just how comfortable he'd been right before waking. He furrowed his brow and turned his gaze on the two friends standing in front of them.

Bill looked sheepish, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck as he gave Eddie an apologetic smile.

"S-sorry, Eddie."

Stan, on the other hand, still stood with his arms loosely crossed, one side of his mouth slipping up knowingly as he cocked an eyebrow at Eddie. Eddie yawned and rubbed his eyes while he stalled, hi heart tripping over itself for a moment. Stan was looking at him like he was prying open Eddie's head, and that was making an anxious chill curdle in his stomach.

"S'alright Bill. I should get changed for bed anyway."

"I left s-stuff in the bathroom." Bill grinned, and Eddie was sure the twinkle in his eye was entirely Stan's doing.

It was several seconds of awkward manoeuvring to find purchase enough to scramble over Richie to the floor, feeling the heat of his friends' gazes, because of course Richie made no move to be less in the way, only grinning toothily at Eddie when he shot him a glare. He laughed when Eddie purposely dug his elbows in when climbing over, and Eddie mussed his hair as he passed for good measure.

"Asshole." he tossed at him as he left the room, and there was nobody in the hall to see when Richie's laugh made him smile as he headed upstairs for the bathroom.

Tugging one of Bill's old shirts over his head, Eddie took the toothbrush Richie kept for him from the second cup, double-checking the coloured cap had a faded E marked on the side before using it. He'd insisted on the system, ages ago when Bill first started keeping spares, because the spare cup in each of their bathrooms had a brush for each Loser, and the only way for Eddie to fight the nauseous fear of using someone else's toothbrush was to check obsessively that he was using the correct one.

He rinsed the sink once he'd spit, clicking the toothbrush cap back over the bristles with a satisfying snap before heading back downstairs as quietly as possible. Richie's parents had gone to bed already, and Eddie was always a tiny bit afraid that if they made too much noise on their sleepovers, Wentworth and Maggie might never let him come back.

The others were chatting in low voices when he slipped back into the room, and it only took a single glance to see that Stan had repossessed the sofa, set up in his sleeping bag already, scribbling in the sketchbook propped on his knees. Mike was already zipped up in his on the floor, arms pillowed behind his head and his head tipped upside down as he answered whatever Bill had said with a grin.

Ben was watching the new movie that was on, the volume so low it was almost inaudible. He looked up when Eddie came in, and gave him a tired smile. Eddie smiled back as he stepped over him.

"Have you seen the… thing?" he asked the shorter boy, mimicking pushing buttons.

Before Eddie could even look around properly, Bill had reached over Mike for the TV remote, and tossed it to Ben, who caught it with a grin. Eddie looked around, spying the two sleeping bags lying neatly, waiting for bodies. He swept for the third, and spied it, folded at the foot of Stan. Eddie smiled to himself and headed for the pair on the floor.

Two guesses who was snagging the sofa.

"Richie go to bed?" he asked, wondering if his voice sounded funny to the others.

It felt awkward to his own ears, coloured no doubt by the fact that his brain had skipped several steps ahead and was anticipating falling asleep right by Richie, like always. Except this time, it'd be as soulmates, and Richie might know that when Eddie turned over to smile goodnight, it was because wanted to see him once more before he fell asleep.

He wondered if the others could hear the weird twist of hope that Richie hadn't abandoned them for his bedroom without saying goodnight to him.

"Changing." Mike answered first, not even turning from the screen.

Maybe not. God, Richie was right. Eddie was terrible at lying, they were gonna figure it out if he didn't stop panicking. He dared a glance at Bill, but his oldest friend was watching the film too. Stan was busy with his sketch. Everything was fine. Anticipation bubbled in his chest.

The more Eddie let himself think, as he unzipped the bag and slipped inside, the warmed he felt. The heat started in his neck, blooming across his face and making him thankful it was dark. It sank down his throat, across his chest. Even his fingertips tingled faintly, and Eddie had the sudden startling thought that if everyone was asleep int he dark, he could take Richie's hand.

It was exactly as that thought popped into his head, of course, that Richie appeared in the room, darting straight over to slap his hands on Eddie's shoulders. He laughed when Eddie peeped in surprise, and only laughed harder when he was shoved away with a scowl.

"God, you're a dick. What the fuck, Rich?" he snapped, feeling the bright flush on his face, glad the room was mostly dark.

"You love it." was Richie's easy reply, and though Eddie continued to scowl, he felt like Richie could see right through it to the leap in his chest.

He rolled his eyes in a wide arc.

"Fuck you."

Richie's grin grew wide and teasing, and his eyes were glinting. Eddie felt the dread as he recognised the expression. Only this time, he wasn't waiting for Richie to get a Good One off about his mom. He watched the expression slip across Richie's face and he felt a little bit afraid. Maybe Richie saw it, maybe it was just chance that made him stay quiet. The longer his eyes held Eddie's, though, the warmer Eddie felt.

"Shit." Mike blew out a breath, breaking the spell, "That was _good_."

Eddie looked over to see the credits beginning to crawl up the TV screen. Ben put it off, leaning out of his sleeping bag to place the remote on the table. Bill stood and stretched, and then he wove his way in-between them to the sofa. Eddie settled into own bed, staring up at the ceiling because he was too chicken to turn to face his best friend, because his stomach was swimming with that giddy anticipation, and nervousness, and a whole bunch of other weird things he hadn't let himself feel all day.

One of course, being soul-deep fear.

He closed his eyes and listened to the shuffling as the other boys settled, Bill and Stan muttering amiably as they made space for each other at opposite ends of the sofa.

"Night, guys." Ben whispered eventually, when conversation didn't fill the sleepy air.

They chorused back, and they _did_ sound tired. It had been a long, busy day of decorating and dancing and getting everything ready. Eddie didn't blame them for passing on their usual low effort pre-sleep conversations. The quiet fell like cotton-wool, blanketing the room with drowsiness. It wasn't long before Mike's breathing grew deep and almost snoring. Used to early mornings and early nights, Mike would probably be the most exhausted of them all.

Eddie's eyes grew heavy and he felt himself drifting again. The room was full of quiet sleep sounds, and he was perfectly happy right then. Sure, he was intimidated by the new task ahead of him, finding out how to be a soulmate, working out what he wanted, what Richie wanted. But he'd spent the perfect day with his friends, pulling together something pretty spectacular, laughing and joking and playing games, eating junk his mother would _flip_ over if she knew. An entire day in the company of his favourite people was no small feat.

He jumped when something brushed his face. He turned his head and blinked awake, finding Richie looking right at him across the short distance between their sleeping bags. Richie had aligned them, Eddie was pretty sure. And he'd set them real close together. Before today, Eddie probably wouldn't have put half as much thought into it, if he'd noticed. But as he met the dark, clever eyes of his friend, the very small distance seemed like a huge, important detail.

Richie's mouth quirked up at one side.

 _Hey_ , he mouthed.

Eddie couldn't fight the growing smile.

 _Hi_.

Richie smiled brightly.

_Thank you._

Eddie raised an eyebrow, and Richie rolled his eyes. He made a tiny sweeping motion with his hand, gesturing to the room, and Eddie nodded.

 _You're welcome_. he shrugged, but Richie was still looking at him with those pretty, astute eyes.

For a while all they did was look at each other, breathing quietly in a room full of their friends and feeling like they were alone in the world. Richie was resting his cheek on his hands, and looking at Eddie like he was fascinating, and Eddie felt simultaneously vulnerable and safe. The latter gave him just a little confidence.

He shifted onto his side and crept a hand across the distance, leaving it resting close enough for Richie. The curly-haired boy gave him a wide grin, eyes lighting in delight, and slid a hand out to turn Eddie's hand over, his fingers lacing through Eddie's the wrong way round. When Eddie shifted properly onto his side, it shaved an inch from the space between them. Richie was watching him, lips set in a shallow, happy curve.

"Happy Birthday, Rich." Eddie whispered, as quietly as he could.

Richie dipped his chin, brushing his cheek over the knuckles of Eddie's hand. Eddie swallowed. His heart was racing suddenly, leaping and stuttering. Maybe Richie knew, because the corner of his mouth curled up cheekily before he pressed his lips softly to skin of Eddie's fingers. It made Eddie shiver, his breath catching.

 _God_ , he knew what he wanted. Richie was his soulmate. Fuck, Derry was going to be the death of them if they got caught, but he couldn't ignore the weight of affection in his chest. Bowers would hunt them down. His mom would kill him. Life was gonna be a whole lot of hiding and keeping secrets. But this thing that lived between them, he wanted to keep it. Richie was it. What was it they called it? In those dumb chick flicks? The One?

Whatever, Eddie thought as his eyes began falling heavily, Richie watching him as sleep reached for them, his answer was yes. When Richie asked again, as he absolutely would, Eddie's answer would be yes, goddamn it. He wanted to date him.

~.~


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fluff.  
> I just can't resist.  
> (Please accept the pretty poor attempt at some angst too, lol. This fic just wants to be CUTE!)
> 
> As always, y'all are appreciated for all your support and patience and lovely comments.  
> Happy Reading!

The sun hadn't even crested the horizon yet, but he yawned awake anyway, stretching tall as he sat up. Drilled into him as a boy, his body clock was precise and hardly ever wrong, even on nights as late as the one before.

His grandfather had bid him the night off, and today too, on the understanding that he'd do extra chores tomorrow. Mike thought that was more than fair, and had grinned brightly to convey how much he appreciated the man's leniency. He was a taskmaster for sure, but there was a heart in there too.

He grinned at the colours cast by the pale morning light filtering through the paper on the windows. It had been a whole lotta work, but seeing the room come together had made every second worth it. They'd teased Eddie in good humour about it whenever Richie wasn't around, but Mike was real proud of what they'd achieved, and incredibly proud of the mind behind the whole plan. He swung his head around to look for the boy in question as he prepared to get up to use the bathroom, and smiled gently to himself, pausing just for a second to look.

At first, he'd nearly missed him, curled as small as he was, Richie half-draped across his side, one long pale arm framing the opening of Eddie's sleeping bag. The taller boy was an almost protective crescent shape around Eddie's much smaller form, and Mike's heart gave a small thrum. On the sofa, Bill and Stan were top-and-tail, both turned towards the back cushions, Bill's sleeping bag crooked behind where Stan's knees were.

Ben lay on his front, face pillowed on his arms, a soft rose on the tops of his cheeks. In sleep, perhaps even more so than when he was awake, the soulful boy's expression was soft and open and lovely. He'd never met anyone like Ben, who had seen so much darkness and suffered so much awful, and still smiled so sweetly, kindness leaking from him to anyone who looked remotely like they needed it. There was a real, gentle strength in Ben that it was impossible not to admire.

Mike had never felt the odd one out of the Losers Club, despite the myriad of reasons one might have expected to make him so. He had no history with any of them in Derry, the four years they'd all been together was hardly anything compared to the depth of history that their original four shared. Mike was home schooled, lived just outside of the main town boundary even, _and_ he'd been the last to join. To an onlooker, these were reasons why his place in their ranks might come as a surprise. And yet, he never did feel that way himself. Even though there were deep connections that criss-crossed the many members, he'd never felt like his were any weaker for his late appearance.

They'd built their new histories together since that fateful summer, and it never ceased to amaze Mike that he _belonged_.

Even when, as he looked now as the five sleeping boys and stepped gingerly over them to leave the room, he had an inkling there might lie changes in their futures.

~.~

Eddie knew it was still early before he even opened his eyes, could feel it in his bones. He lay still, enjoying the languid, lazy process of waking. There was a familiar sound close by, soft and snuffly. He could feel the day's potential already, seeping warmly into his skin. A page turned gently somewhere.

Actually, he thought as he swam a little closer to wakefulness, that warmth on his skin was a comfortable weight. He shifted one shoulder experimentally, but instead of the blanket falling further down as he expected, it tightened gently, and-

 _Oh_.

Eddie froze, and he didn't need to move his head or open his eyes to know what the warmth on his neck was. Richie was asleep against his back, his dark jungle of curls brushing the back of Eddie's head with every breath. He felt much more awake, all of a sudden, his pulse jumping in surprise as his eyes finally popped open. Richie's arm was thrown over him, long pale fingers curling at the outside edge of the sleeping bag as though to keep it there, and Eddie could feel the press of Richie's knees behind his own, even through their sleeping bags.

He was broken from his potential startled panic, however, when the sound of someone turning a page came again.

Well, shit.

Someone was awake, which means someone had _seen_ , and so much for keeping secrets. He hadn't even had time to figure out what he wanted to say, or if he even _did_ want to say, and what if they were sitting thinking about- What if they'd decided they didn't want to be friends with _queers_ , and they'd accidentally ruined everything and- Ohhh fucking, shit. This was bad, this could be _real_ bad, what if they told everyone, what if-

Richie murmured then, right against the back of Eddie's neck and making him jump, and the arm over him crooked, drawing them closer together. Richie was a warmth all up Eddie's back already, but the gesture was so gentle that it broke through the rising panic in his thoughts as if the taller boy had known Eddie was freaking out.

He flushed. That was stupid and sappy, but… He appreciated it, anyway. Even if Richie hadn't actually meant it, he'd made Eddie realise how stupid he was being.

The Losers were his friends. Sure, maybe telling them he was gay was still gonna be hard, and maybe he was still worried about it. But they wouldn't tell Derry. They wouldn't _do_ that, be so cruel. They were his friends, remember? They weren't out to hurt him.

And besides, Eddie realised with an embarrassing jolt, this wasn't the first time they'd woken close together at a sleepover. It wasn't like they never, y'know… It wasn't like the Losers didn't… _hug_ , and stick close to each other and stuff. Eddie swallowed the lump in his throat as rolled his eyes at himself. He was over thinking, because he knew they were soulmates. That was all. The others didn't know that, did they?

He finally shifted, yawning and pushing himself up on his hands to look over the room. As his eyes found Ben sitting with his back against a table leg reading a comic, though, the greeting on his tongue died. Because Richie gave a soft whine and tightened his arm around Eddie's waist, burying his face in the pooled material of Eddie's sleeping bag.

Eddie gave him an automatic shove as his face burned, and Richie mewled again, his face scrunching up in confusion as he flopped onto his back.

"Eds…" he mumbled, sleepy voice coloured with complaint as he slipped back into sleep.

Eddie met Ben's eye, his whole body burning, and almost couldn't say good morning when the bigger boy simply smiled warmly. Eddie kind of wished Richie wasn't so damn clingy when he was sleeping. He avoided looking at his best friend as he wriggled out of his sleeping bag and put distance between them, before pointing awkwardly at the door and scuttling out as quickly as he could, almost tripping over Mike in the process.

By the time he'd brushed his teeth and splashed his face with cold water a couple times, Eddie was feeling a little bit better. Anxious was normal for him, of course, but it wasn't usually this bad. He felt… Well, he felt kind of guilty, he supposed. Like he was keeping some terrible secret. Only this time, he wasn't just keeping quiet about the fact he liked boys the way he was supposed to like girls, or even the fact that he liked _Richie_ in a way he'd always believed he shouldn't.

Now he was hiding that he'd found his soulmate, too. And that felt… Well, it felt worse than he'd expected, and he wasn't sure what about it it was that gave him the heavy dark weight of guilt in his belly, but it did.

Eddie fingered the collar of Bill's nightshirt as he looked at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. His face was flushed pink and awkward-looking, and he was chewing his lip absentmindedly. He eyed his clothes from the day before, still folded neatly on the floor amongst the untidy contributions of his friends.

Although he itched for clean clothes, he knew it really wouldn't kill him to wear them again. He had to get over things like this, striving for absolute cleanliness. Knowing he was doing it to stall on going back downstairs, Eddie shucked off Bill's spare nightshirt - brought with him in the hopes that Eddie might somehow be allowed to sleepover at the Tozier's last minute, knowing how Richie's clothes drowned him so, - and smiled, folding it neatly for him and grabbing his clothes.

Stan was awake by the time he got back, already out of his sleeping bag and looking somehow sleep-rumpled and still neat at the same time. Bill and Richie were still out cold, though the former had flipped onto his back and tossed an arm over his eyes. Stan met Eddie's eye the moment he appeared in the doorway, rising from the sofa with a smile.

"Took you long enough." he murmured in greeting as he passed by, Ben and Mike chuckling quietly at Eddie's surprised expression.

"He's been waiting," Mike grinned when Eddie looked to them for explanation, "I think he needs to _go_."

Eddie squirmed guiltily.

"Oh. Whoops."

Mike's headshake told him the apologetic tone was unnecessary. Eddie glanced at his watch, even though he'd looked at it not ten minutes ago in the bathroom.

"We got a while before we meet Bev," Ben said, then, eying their two sleeping friends, "Mike and me thought maybe we could go to the quarry today."

"It's supposed to be pretty hot today." Eddie answered automatically, distracted with the task of choosing where to sit.

You could still get sunburn in March if you weren't careful. Eddie paused half-way to the ground at Richie's feet, landing with a bump as he remembered he'd left his fanny pack at home. He hadn't been expecting to need-

Well, he _didn't_ need it, not really. They had supplies at the Clubhouse, of course, if they needed anything. He was just so used to carrying it.

"We can pick up sunblock when we meet Bev at the Barrens." Mike answered easily, tossing Eddie a controller with a smile and snickering when Eddie look at it in confusion.

"Uh…"

"Wanna see whether Richie's ability to sleep through anything works with video games?"

Eddie blinked in surprise, but he could feel the way his lips curled upwards, and Ben laughed with them.

"I wonder if he'll beat Bill." the quiet boy hummed, and it was decided.

They were just getting set up when Stan reappeared, neat and prim in his pressed trousers and button-shirt, and although he rolled his eyes and scooped up his sketchpad to settle back onto the sofa, his eyes were alight with the joke.

They weren't even a whole minute into a level of Splatterhouse before Richie was scrambling from his sleeping bag with an obnoxiously loud yell and demanding Eddie play him next. Since that woke Bill, the other four called it a tie, and Eddie was less anxious when Richie dropped right behind him like he had a dozen or more times before, his long legs on either side of Eddie's, his chest brushing the shorter boy's back and his arms looping around him as he tried to help with the controls.

They won, of course, despite the others complaining loudly about _backseat gaming_ , and when Maggie came down with an exasperated fondness on her face, Eddie dodged having to play against Richie by offering to help her with breakfast.

It turned out a double win, in Eddie's opinion. Because not only did he get to laugh at Richie's indignant and melodramatic howling for what he called abandonment, but he also got to see how dopily Richie looked at him when they all flooded the kitchen on command to see pancakes being dropped on plates.

And if Richie pulled his chair up too close to his side and deliberately brushed their fingers together every time he reached for the syrup or the leftover popcorn and sweets they'd deigned to use as toppings, then that was a win, too.

~.~


End file.
